The Forbidden Game: The Hunted
by CassiopeatheGrande
Summary: 88 years on, Julian has been awakened by his Shadow Ancestors, Jenny is dead and he feels he has nothing to live for... That is until the possibilty of a reincarnation is suggested. One more game, the stakes: Julian's freedom or eternal servitude.
1. Awakening

**Forbidden Game 4: The Hunted**

**Prologue**

Slowly and deliberately the shadow man with the crocodile eyes finished carving the new name into the rune stave. His tongue clicked unpleasantly against the roof of his mouth as he brought the tip of his serrated fingernail out of the wood-flesh with a flourish. A sinister smile stretched across his jagged jaws.

"Juuuuulian…" he whispered, the word an unpleasant hiss in the tense silence.

A collective whispering began, as soft as rustling branches. The other shadow men watched from the darkness, each pair of eyes luminous with their own intense malice, the hatred of centuries past. No mortal would ever have been able to decipher that language. It was too old. So ancient that it could have outlived the human race itself.

Though the conversation seemed to immerse all of them, each and every pair of eyes was determinedly fixated on the rune stave balanced precariously on the palm of the leader's hand. It pulsated softly with it's own primeval power, omitting a hidden electricity. On that rune stave laid the key to the lives of every deformed creature gathered around it, ancient names that glowed, dimly at first, then began to brighten. The light reflected in the leader's reptilian eyes and in one fluid motion he plunged the rune stave into the snow, standing back warily.

Rooted in the ground it seemed to undertake a life force of its own. The glowing intensified, it pulsed with waves of energy resonating like earthquake tremors, as if something were trying to escape.

Or someone.

Then suddenly there was a blinding flash that eclipsed everything in pure white.

White like fresh snow… White like death…

The light thickened turning into a hanging mist quickly cleared by the wind. In the place of where the rune stave had been materialised the form of a naked young man.

Born in perfection, a pale, unearthly and indescribably beautiful creature. A creature because nothing that perfect could have been human. He lay huddled on his side, his eyes closed, silvery-white hair playing softly on his face. His features displayed a calm that seemed beyond sleep, the kind of calm that could only be obtained through complete release. The shadow men watched him hungrily, their cruel, ancient eyes awaiting his awakening with baited silence. Awaiting the touch of his azure irises.

Like a sleeper heavily drugged, Julian slowly stirred, his heavy lashes lifting. At first there was nothing but white, then a blurry silhouette began to materialise.

"Jenny…" he whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking slightly from neglect of use.

But of course it wasn't her. The figure was too tall, its features too sharp. There was no glowing golden aura about the thing stood before him, only the darkness of shadows. As his senses returned he could hear the mocking hiss of laughter rising around him, every creature crept out of the shadows, hideous bodies becoming visible. His ancestors. Conniving and sadistic, all of them merciless, all of them longing for blood.

A smaller shadow man resembling a withered grey foetus ran forward stopping close to Julian and resting his hands on his hair.

"Welcome back…" he sneered.

Indignantly Julian sat up, swiping at him with the back of his hand. The tiny creature leapt out of the way, untouched, with reflexes that its form suggested it was incapable of. Its laughter was like wheezing bellows.

The crocodile-eyed shadow man shook his head in mock disapproval, "Glamour yourself Julian… We would so hate for you to catch a cold…"

His voice was like wind chimes echoing, his smile stretched wider revealing broken, pointed teeth.

Julian threw him a resentful look, clearly incensed with the patronizing way he was being spoken to. Of course it was impossible for him to catch such a trivial human disease. He was a shadow man, immortal, striking and dangerous, but was obliged to do as his elder asked out of modesty. His body began to glow with a faint illumination, though he remained where he sat, motionless. It faded to reveal clothes, a plain white t-shirt and jeans.

"Yes… I'm sure you'd hate that, Ing," he replied, a sarcastic edge to his hoarse voice.

The shadow man named 'Ing' tilted his head looking down on Julian with a certain distain that seemed to suggest a haughtiness that considered himself higher in ranking. He appeared unfazed by the lack of respect. His hideous smile remained constant.

"I expect it makes sense that your mourning clothes are white," he said, his tone riddled with scorn, "Black was always such a large part of your daily attire…"

Julian's angry gaze fell behind his sooty lashes, he didn't need to ask what Ing was implying. He knew perfectly well. He was right.

It had been nearly eighty-eight years since he'd seen the real Jenny Thornton, bidding him her last goodbye. Nearly eighteen years since he'd lost the warmth of her mind- her dream self- always young and glowing, calling to him from sleep. He knew, in that last dream, where he'd held her, crying that he still loved her, that death had finally come to take her away forever. He'd done his grieving, even in his half dead state he supposed was limbo, but he'd never really gotten over her.

"What do you want?" he said, his voice expressionless, he was in no mood to get into that kind of conversation.

Ing seemed to take pleasure in his resigned tone, "We want Julian…" he crooned, leaning down closer to him, "We want you to hunt with us again."

Julian turned his face up so that his gaze met the acrid yellow of Ing's eyes, he couldn't say he hadn't been expecting this offer.

"Then you can cut my name back out of the rune stave," he hissed in reply, "I'll never hunt with you again."

The rest of the shadow men burst into angry whispers, Ing signalled for them to be quiet, "Why not Julian?" he said, "This acceptance is more than you deserve… And we've got such an unusual prey lined up-"

"Didn't you hear me? I said no!"

A silence ensued after this outburst, everyone standing and watching. They didn't need to say anything to express that if Julian weren't one of their own kind they would already have mutilated him. The foetus-like shadow man giggled.

"You might change your mind after you see her…" he sang.

Ing nodded, "Sindri thought she'd be of particular interest to you."

Despite himself, Julian was almost intrigued, but he stubbornly refused to be taken in by their words. He had seen how they could twist a person's mind, manipulating them into hating their own children if they wanted.

"You're not still angry about that girl are you? She's been dead for nearly eighteen years."

He didn't answer.

"She's changed you Julian, what happened to your contempt for human-kind? What happened to your dangerous nature?"

In one movement, Julian was on his feet, suddenly threateningly close, "_That_ is still here," he snarled, "Now are you going to do as I say? Or am I going to have to make you?"

Ing laughed quietly to himself, he obviously thought there was no way he could make him do anything. He swept Julian aside with one swipe of his bony hand and he landed sprawled with very little decorum onto his back.

"Very well Julian," he said, continuing as though this were a completely rational conversation, "I should have guessed that the possibility of a reincarnation would be of no interest to you…"

"What?"

He sat up, his attention caught helplessly, "What do you mean?"

The superior smile was back, Ing knew he had control, "You know the story as well as any Julian, when a spirit is so torn between two lovers that their afterlife becomes unbearable, there is a possibility that the unhappy wanderer will return in another body…"

He waved his hand dismissively, "But as I thought, that would be of little interest to you-"

"Show me the prey."

Julian's voice was terse and demanding. If there was any possibility that a trace of Jenny remained, then he wanted to claim it. His cobalt eyes were brighter than when he had awakened, his body tense, a sign he had been determined not to show, the sign that the dormant hunter still burned deep within him.

Ing laughed, "And what makes you think that the offer is still open to you? After your insolence I doubt any will hunt with you."

"I don't want to hunt with you," Julian snapped, "I want her for myself."

Sindri laugh, "What makes you think it's a her?" he piped up.

The other shadow men laughed, Ing's grin grew wider at Julian's horrified expression, "It is a her," he assured him.

Julian's jaw clenched furiously.

"Alright Julian, since you are so insistent, why don't we make this into a little game? You like games don't you?"

Julian tried to keep his face expressionless, he liked games when he was the most advanced participant and, even in that scenario, there were risks. He'd found that out the hard way. How could he win when he was faced against players much older and experience than himself? Players with much more intent on being sadistic.

But he was desperate.

"What are the rules?" he asked calmly and without hesitation.

Ing seemed quite satisfied that he had gotten his own way, he spoke as though he had rehearsed the speech, "The rules are quite simple. You find the prey and entice her willingly into our world, giving you a claim. If you can obtain her consented submission to be bound to you, then she is yours to keep, to do with as you please."

"And if I can't?" Julian replied, almost sure he knew what the answer was going to be.

"If you cannot obtain her consent then you will rejoin our ranks without question."

He'd guessed as much, but this seemed too simple… Far too simple for his elders. What else could they have planned? He knew better than anyone that the shadow men never did anything good without wanting something pricey in return, something they often couldn't afford. He imagined that price would be more than his compliance.

But what did he have to lose?

"Do you agree to the terms?" Ing asked, "You will have one lunar cycle to complete the task."

Twenty-Eight days… Plenty time enough. Pushing the doubts to the back of his mind, Julian flashed a wolfish smile, "Agreed."

Ing returned a smirk, "Good…"

He sketched a shape in the air, like a vase tipped on its side, a fiery line followed his pointed finger, lingering like a neon light in mid-air, "Perthro, the rune of gambling and divination, has been evoked. That means no cheating."

"I know what it means."

His smirk stretched wider, "Jarl, bring the looking glass."

At his command, another shadow man came forward, he was only beginning to show the signs of deformity that the others displayed and faint traces of his once stunning beauty still showed. Especially in his fathomless, grey eyes. The corners of his mouth turned upwards in an unkind sneer, he was holding out a shard of solid ice. Ing took it and held it up, tilting it to a certain angle.

"Here she is," Ing said, beckoning Julian to look.

Julian got up easily and stepped forward, the surface of the ice started to shift and change, forming silhouettes and beginning to shape into a focused image. They were hazy at first, then the picture sharpened like a camera adjusting. Julian's eyes widened in suppressed astonishment, he almost had to physically stop himself showing any other feeling on his face. He touched the glass tentatively, he hadn't been prepared for it, the complete similarity and yet… Utter difference.

There was a young girl, about seventeen years old. She was sitting on a bed in what appeared to be her bedroom leant over a spiral bound book, scribbling quick and messy notes. She seemed completely absorbed in it, her hair hanged down concealing some of her face. It was a dark honey brown, like Jenny's, but duller, without the liquid amber quality he remembered. She bit her bottom lip as though she were concentrating hard.

Julian leant forward, the mirror brought him close enough to see the slight furrow of her brow, the shimmer of an earring, the colour of her eyes. Again, they weren't as catching as Jenny's pine forest green ones, they were misted over and tired-looking, as though she were too jaded for her age. She scraped her hair behind her ear, leaning back. Those eyes met his for a brief moment.

She had the same golden aura… Just fainter…

Ing watched him intently, he could sense his surprise, could see it in his cat-tilted eyes. He lowered the mirror a fraction.

"She's a pretty one, isn't she?"

Julian didn't reply straightening up, _Pretty, _he thought, _But not beautiful like Jenny used to be…_

"Uruz will get you there," Ing said, formally setting out the start of the game, "Your time ends when the sun rises after twenty-eight days time."

He held the mirror back up for him, indicating what he was to do. Julian nodded. The rules were simple, the stakes absolute. He had twenty-eight days and twenty-eight nights to make Jenny fall in love with him again. If he failed, it may prove to be his complete undoing.

With his index figure he traced the rune of Uruz on the surface of the icy glass, an inverted 'U' shape that glowed faintly with fiery red.

"Uruz," he said solemnly.

The rune began to blaze intensely, like the names on the rune stave. Julian could feel and hear the old magik awakening, the electric vibration reaching out to his body, gently pulling him toward the glass, he stepped forward, allowing the enchantment to take him. Staring intently into the mirror he could see the girl, she'd gone back to writing in her little book, completely oblivious to his approaching. His throat tightened for a brief moment.

He shut his eyes. Tendrils of crimson had arisen from the rune and were stretching out, enveloping him, all of his senses were blocked out in a flash of white he could see even behind his eyelids. Despite himself, he smiled, this was the start of a new hunt, with new quarry, and after all, it was in his nature to want to chase, to capture, to _claim_.

And this time he was going to win.


	2. Amber Emmet

Heya, sorry this has been a bit slow coming but I've got my A levels coming up and I'm having trouble finding the time to write this. Thanks everyone for your reviews! Constructive criticism as well as praise was appreciated. This chapter was intended to be longer, but I thought I'd break it up so I could keep you updated. I am also going to apologise because I have difficulty writing about mundane life...

**Chapter One**

"You hardly have any decent music."

Amber watched as her friend carelessly discarded CD after CD, casting each one into a messy pile on the desk. Her nails clacking irritatingly on the plastic cases as she critically evaluated everything in her album collection, she had not yet found a single thing she deemed worthy.

"I like it," she replied indignantly, lying back on her bed.

Another CD clattered noisily. Amber hadn't expected when Stacey had invited herself over to help choose music for her party that it was going to be a pleasant experience, Stacey liked to pick fault with everything recently, even with her best friend.

_Especially_ with her best friend.

"Yes well, it's all very well if _you_ like it, but no one's going to dance to any of this…"

She selected another, turning it over and scrutinizing the track list swiftly before pulling a face and putting that in the 'no' pile as well. Amber rolled her eyes.

"I think it's better if I just bring some CDs with me on Saturday… There's not really anything partyish in here."

"Fine… That's fine."

It wasn't fine. Amber knew exactly what that meant, the music would consist entirely of what Stacey liked and nothing else. Not that she cared… She hadn't wanted this party anyway.

Amber's parents had been promising her since she turned seventeen that she could have a house party for her eighteenth birthday while they went away for the weekend, providing she didn't wreck the house and no one went upstairs. She'd been planning it for months, no rules, endless flow of alcohol, a good laugh with her friends and the prospect of Josh staying for the whole night without interruption… But lately all her enthusiasm for the idea had disappeared and Stacey had practically arranged the whole thing by herself while she let it pass by without much interest.

Stacey was prying around her room now, picking up her spiral-bound book of notes without asking and flicking through it. Her deep blue, mascara-framed eyes scanning over the pages as she turned them with the same scrutiny she had used looking at her music. Amber watched indifferently without leaping up and squealing at her to stop like she might have done a few months ago. Back then she'd secretly wanted Stacey to nose through her things, to ask her questions about boys and kissing and other girlish things she now considered herself to have outgrown. Stacey had used to be a lot more friendly and bearable in those days, when she'd been going out with Josh's best friend, Alex. Although she'd never said so, Amber knew Stacey blamed her for their break up, it had been more out of convenience than attraction that made Alex agree to go on double dates with them.

Stacey paused on a page, "I don't understand any of this, why don't you keep a diary anymore?"

Amber had thrown out all her diaries, looking back on them she felt ashamed of some of the things she'd written, they seemed so superficial and air-headed, mostly bitching about girls at school and complaining about her parents, she dreaded to think what anyone (apart from Stacey) would have thought should they have read it.

"Nothing to write," she replied expressionlessly, sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest.

Stacey hiked a perfectly plucked eyebrow, snapping the book shut and putting it back on the dresser, "You never tell me anything anymore…"

She sat on the edge of the bed, Amber could tell she was moving in for a girly chat, "Has Josh been in touch?" she asked, her voice taking on a sympathetic tone that sounded completely forced.

"No."

She didn't elaborate, staring blankly at her pale green bed covers, concentrating on the small stain she'd left experimenting with her glittery make-up. Focussing on that made it easier not to think about him… Thinking about him made her feel sick.

"Still not given you a proper reason then?"

"No."

"Aw…" Stacey patted her shoulder, "I'm sure he'll realise he's being an idiot soon… Maybe at your party he'll try to make things up with you."

"Hmm…"

She didn't move, she doubted Josh would even turn up to her party. He'd made it abundantly clear he didn't want anything to do with her.

"What about Alex?" she asked, half compelled to return her friend's 'concern'… Though really she was trying to change the subject.

Stacey waved a hand dismissively, "As if I care, I was planning on dumping him anyway."

That was a lie.

She wound her arms around Amber in an awkward hug, "It's you I'm concerned about sweetie… You've been really quiet, are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

She shook her head, Amber knew she only wanted to know if she were making any progress because her own progress with Alex depended on it. The initial distress she had felt when Josh, her boyfriend of six years, had broken up with her had long since ebbed, but an empty hollowness had replaced it. She realised she'd become a lot more cynical of everything and everyone around her, primarily Stacey, who she'd started to notice might not be so considerate of her feelings as she'd first thought.

She patted her on the arm in what was probably intended to be a comforting gesture, "Don't worry, you're gorgeous, you'll have them all over you on Saturday."

Amber almost laughed self-deprecatingly at that, gorgeous she was not. She was average. Average build, average face, average everything, nothing that particularly stood out. She supposed that was what had first fascinated her about Stacey because, although she wasn't particularly pretty and wore a lot of make-up to compensate for it, she carried a self-confidence that made her seem so much sexier than all the others in their year. Often she caught herself just staring at her as she stood, poised as if for a photo shoot. She seemed so glamorous, so sure of herself… But what other people failed to realise was that her self-assurance doubled up as inconceivable vanity. Stacey tossed her long, dyed-blonde tresses over her shoulder like a proud mare, a flicker of malice tweaking her little mouth.

"Don't worry, if not Josh, we'll fix you up with _someone_."

Over the next couple of days before the party, the thought of Stacey's intentions to set her up with someone at the party niggled in the back of her mind. It had an unkind spike to it that seemed to suggest Stacey thought she had no chance of attracting someone by herself.

Scraping her namesake hair back with her fingers she heaped a spoonful of sugar onto her Weetabix before mashing them up in the bowl. It was just after noon on Friday, the day of her birthday. Her parents were upstairs preparing to leave on their weekend break.

She sighed heavily, stirring her breakfast mush absently around the bowl, she dreaded the empty silence she would be left with when they were gone, it was usually quiet because she didn't have any brothers or sisters, but being completely on her own filled her with a heavy gloominess. She fingered the small silver and diamond crucifix around her neck they had given her that morning as a birthday present, she wasn't particularly religious, but she liked the shape and the meaning of the symbol. Sacrifice for the greater good, wonderful things that came from the wilful suffering of an unselfish person. Of course her parents didn't know exactly what significance the crucifix had for her, she'd never shared it with anyone.

The doorbell rang, she picked up her bowl and went to the door, making sure the chain was on as her parents had instructed her before she turned the handle.

"Who is it?" she asked through the small gap between the door and the frame.

There was a friendly-looking, plump woman on the other side with a large bunch of orange roses, "Flo the Florist," came her cheerful reply, "Flowers for Miss Amber Emmett."

Amber frowned, she had never gotten flowers sent to her, let alone to her house. Puzzled and curious, she took the chain off the door.

The woman had a round smiley face and chestnut curls, her appearance settled Amber a bit. She held out a clipboard with a form for acknowledgement of receipt on it for her to sign and she scrawled her name.

"Someone's keen on you luv," the woman said brightly, winking at her, "Special occasion?"

She handed Amber the roses, which she took in bemusement, she couldn't imagine who would have sent them. Maybe it was Josh…

"Yes…" she said dazedly, "Yes… It's my eighteenth today."

"Oh that's lovely… There was a note with these as well." She handed her a white envelope, "Have a lovely birthday, sweetheart."

Amber nodded her thanks and bid her goodbye, excitement building in her chest, if these were from Josh then that probably meant he wanted to make up with her. With a renewed sense of enthusiasm, she took the roses to the kitchen table and laid them down carefully, slitting the envelope open with her finger.

Inside there were two pieces of paper, one was a pink business card from the florists shop with a description of what significant meaning her flowers had.

_Roses (Orange): __Desire_

Desire… So far, so good.

The other note had a red wax seal with a snake pattern on it, she felt slightly guilty for breaking the pretty design as she unfolded the piece of paper. The handwriting was decorative and calligraphic and definitely not the messy scrawl that Josh used in the cards he usually sent her. The message confused her.

_All I refuse and thee I choose._

It sounded like Shakespeare. Definitely not Josh, he didn't know the first thing about Shakespeare.

She turned the letter over, nothing on the back, no name and no way of telling who had sent them. She folded it back up and went to dig a vase out of the cupboard, at the same time trying to think who would have written something like that. For some reason her thoughts were drawn back to English class and the tale of the courtly lover, a nobleman who would pursue his lady-love in absolute pure intention often wasting away for a love that would never be reciprocated, often not even revealing their identity.

_Nowadays to be called a stalker_, she thought amusedly to herself.

When she had finished arranging them in a glass vase, she took the roses up to the relatively safe haven of her bedroom. She could overhear the low murmur of her mum's voice as she passed her parent's bedroom door.

Setting the vase and the two notes down on her dresser next to the birthday cards that had came in the post that morning, she was sorely reminded that she hadn't yet heard from Josh at all to wish her a happy eighteenth.

The elated feeling she had had about the roses suddenly plummeted down past her stomach, she thought he would have at least called or text her with birthday wishes… Obviously he'd forgotten about her a lot faster than she'd imagined he could.

Her bad mood suddenly revived with a vengeance, she threw herself down on her bed, throwing her fist into her pillow. In all the time she'd been going out with Josh, she'd never known him to be so inconsiderate and uncaring, even now, over a month on from the break up, it brought a sharp pain of heartbreak and betrayal.

The intricate words on that piece of paper that came with the roses echoed cruelly in her mind, _All I refuse and thee I choose…_ Something she would have gladly pledged to Josh… Maybe something she still would pledge.

The phone rang. Amber was thrown off her train of thought and wandered back down the stairs to answer it. She was pleased to have a distraction from her own thoughts.

She picked up the phone in the kitchen, vaguely noticing that her breakfast, still sitting on the table, looked uneatable now.

"Hello?" she answered.

Silence, just the slight buzz of background noise.

"Hello?" she repeated.

There was a click and a whirring dial tone, whoever it was had hung up.

An odd feeling of uneasiness crept through her as she put the phone back in the handset. First the mysterious flowers, now this… Usually something as trivial as a prank call or wrong number wouldn't have bothered her, but now her mind was plagued with paranoid thoughts that it might have been Josh on the other end.

She jumped when the phone rang again, yanking it up again quickly in case the person should hang up again.

"Hello?" she said cautiously, yet again.

"Hello Amber, it's Auntie Tracey!"

Amber let go of a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding, "Hi Auntie Tracey."

"Alright, just calling to make sure everything's alright."

"Oh… Yeah, everything's fine thanks…"

"Do you need anything from town for tomorrow?"

The party… For a moment she'd completely forgotten, "No that's okay thanks, I think I've got everything under control, Stacey and some friends are coming up later to help me."

"Alright love, sure you don't need anything? Are you okay on your own?"

"I'm fine thanks."

She checked her watch, her mind now in alarm mode, she'd need to be showered and dressed before Stacey and the others came over at one o' clock. Thoughts of the phone call and anonymously sent roses were pushed to the back of her mind.

"Just fine."


	3. The Ex

_Once again, sorry this has taken so long, between holidays and uni homework (yes... can you believe uni gave me homework?) I've had very little writing time... Anyway, I'm not sure I like the pace of this chapter, bit fast... But I like to get onto the exciting bits. Enjoy._

**Chapter Two**

The night of the party came all too soon. Amber found herself caught quite off guard by how quickly time passed over that busy day and a half. Hour after hour passed by like a hazy monotony of mind-numbing repetitiveness. Caught up in the seemingly never-ending task after task to do before the party, she almost completely forgot about the flowers slowly starving to death in her room. And who had sent them.

Stacey, Leon and Gemma, her friends from school, had come over the day before to help put up decorations and take down and hide anything valuable that might get broken. The front room and kitchen were almost bare, the garage stored with cardboard boxes of porcelain figurines, sharp cutlery, clocks and most other delicate or dangerous things. Her parents had finished their packing and kissed her goodbye, giving her a last minute lecture about 'responsible drinking'. Amber had just smiled reassuringly letting it all pass over her head. She'd heard the same speech a thousand times and seldom obeyed. She'd become quite convincing in feigning that she had.

Now, after almost a whole day of phoning and thanking relatives, local shopping, tidying up and making last minute preparations by herself, she was glad Stacey had forced her to select an outfit and makeup weeks beforehand, she didn't know how she would have coped fussing over this with only a half hour to spare. Slamming her bedroom door, she leant against the frame with a deep unfulfilling inhalation. All this effort and she'd be working herself stupid again clearing it up the next morning. Her blank gaze was drawn listlessly to the orange roses sitting in their glass vase on her windowsill, their bright tops bobbing a little in the breeze from her open window. The eerie way they moved unsettled her, dancing enticingly, plucked cruelly to sit there for her own enjoyment. Every time she looked at them she was reminded of the anonymous card, elaborate words written upon it and the symbolic meaning…

Desire… 

Dispelling these thoughts from her mind, she drew the curtains and shut the window before undressing and changing into her party outfit. A tight, blue-black pair of jeans that clung low on her round hips, a skimpy silver top and matching strappy shoes. Her mussed hair she ran her fingers through, arranging it so it hung correctly around her face in the mirror. She paused for a moment, gazing at her own reflection for a little while, pulling faces and rearranging strands of hair. She was never particularly happy with the way she looked, but it couldn't be helped, after a few drinks, she wouldn't care anyway.

Her makeup bag lay neglected at the back of her dresser, various cosmetics she used regularly scattered hap hazardously around it, shimmering pots of eye shadow, coloured pencils of eyeliner, two lip glosses, a mascara wand… Ritually she selected the silver and blacks that matched her outfit and began to carefully apply them. With the last stroke of the mascara wand, she was feeling once again better about herself, she practised smiled at her own reflection, then pouting, her head on one side. She began to laugh.

She was jolted away from her own vanity by three knocks in quick succession on the front door, Stacey's telltale knock, impatient and finicky, people had begun to arrive.

_Well… Here we go._

Within an hour, the party was in full swing. Nearly, if not everyone had arrived and were divided up into their own social circles, lounging on the sofas, dancing self-consciously in the centre of the room, canoodling in the dark corners… People smiled and hugged Amber as she went past, but she didn't really register the small talk, the drink she was offered passed her lips without any taste. Stacey had quickly taken up with higher social acolytes and left Amber on her own to wander from person to person. Her head was already swimming with the alcohol she had consumed, time passed blurrily as she weaved around, greeting people, speaking to people, taking the drink she was offered…

Eventually she slumped down on an empty couch, resting her head on the arm. She didn't know how much time had passed… But by now people were getting livelier, dancing more provocatively, singing louder to the booming beats of club music she hated. Couples openly and vulgarly battled each other with their tongues to the catcalls of others who passed them. She closed her eyes, the music becoming a dull buzz. She remembered a time when she'd been like that, uncaring, loved up… When all that really mattered was getting smashed and making out. All the sorts of things she was getting increasingly sick of.

"Amber?"

She recognised the voice instantly and opened her eyes, sitting up, trying to mentally gather herself and appear sober.

It was Josh, tall and slim, dressed casually in jeans and a black t-shirt, but looking beautiful as always, like some always perfected model. His long, dark hair had been meticulously styled around his heart-shaped face, his deep brown eyes appeared to soften as he watched her. For a moment they just looked at each other, she almost hoped he was struggling to find words to ask for her back, to make amends so they could be together again. Anticipation arose in her stomach like a flittering bird.

"Um… Happy Birthday…" he said finally, uneasily.

"Oh… Thanks…"

Silence for a second that seemed to stretch endlessly, "How have you been?"

"Err… Fine thanks, how about you?"

Oh no… The hope within her plummeted as they both slowly descended into small, awkward conversation. He avoided her gaze, he didn't dare look up from the floor, she knew now that he had never intended for this 'break' to end. He was guilty of something, she had a talent for knowing when someone was withholding information or lying to her. With that, all eagerness to even converse with him fizzled out, she didn't even notice her slurring as her brain zoned out. She could barely make out vague words, it was as though they were strangers, not ex-lovers who had previously shared everything with each other.

Through her self-pitying thoughts she heard him making his excuses just before he left her sitting there by herself, she didn't respond at all. She just felt empty. As if this truly were the official end. She couldn't cry. She couldn't do anything.

"Heeeey Ambey!"

Stacey staggered over to her, clearly wasted, a strange coloured drink in hand. Her blonde tresses were dishevelled, her green dress-top hanging suggestively off her shoulder, almost exposing her.

"Hey babe, I saw Jush over 'ere!" she slurred, "Made up with 'im?"

Amber thought the answer was clear from the expression on her face, obviously Stacey needed verbal confirmation for everything, tactless in her means of getting it as always.

"I just want to be left alone Stace," she said, her tone laden with suppressed annoyance, her head spun as she hastened to stand up.

"Oh."

Stacey's face took on an interested expression for a moment, "S'over then, offishially?"

Her 'friend' wasn't even bothering to feign sympathy, but she didn't pay it much heed, she could feel tears welling and she was determined not to cry.

"Yeah… I guess it is."

Then before she could say anything else, Amber pushed past her toward the cornered off stairs and up to her bedroom, her chest heaving with frustrated attempts to keep her sobs at bay. There was a tiny self-absorbed part of her that hoped Stacey would follow and try to genuinely comfort her, even if she intended to send her away again. Despite everything, she thought her best friend at least would care.

She slammed the door and sat gingerly on the edge of her bed, as though this were not her room but someone else's. Her hands shook with a sudden build of despair and rage, how _dare_ Josh pretend their relationship had never happened, how _dare_ Stacey be so uncaring when she had always been so concerned for _her_ in the past. She rested her head on her palms, as though holding her head up might make it feel less heavy, as though it would make the room stop spinning.

Then, gazing up through her fingers she caught a glimpse of the orange roses, dancing mockingly in their vase, bobbing up and down in the breeze. She felt a stab of misery looking at them, they definitely hadn't been from Josh. Had they been intended for her at all? She dashed away the tears that had inevitably began with the back of her hand, unknowingly smearing her makeup across her cheek and went to touch the cool glass, closing the window against the bitterly cold winds. She sniffed and took a deep breath, trying to collect herself again, ruffling her hair in the dim reflection on the glass, a strange sense of déjà vu over came her, she was sure she had shut this window earlier. Deep in contemplation, it took her a few seconds to notice the hazy outline of someone sitting on the bed behind her…

She spun around on her heel and almost lost her balance, tripping backward against the wall. She was terrified that she had seen a ghost. But no. Her heart rate slowed in relief, real, fleshy and unthreatening enough, it was just an ordinary boy.

Her initial fear was quickly replaced by anger, she didn't know who this person was, but logic told her he could only have been a plus one, Leon was standing near the front door and would have thrown him out were he a gate-crasher, "What are you doing up here?" she demanded, "Upstairs is out of bounds!"

The boy smiled, a flash of white teeth in a small carnal smirk. He seemed quite at home, slightly reclined on her bed, slender legs draped over the edge, a picture of monochrome in his blacker-than-black simple jeans and t-shirt, contrasting starkly with his pallid skin and white hair, most of which covered his bowed face. _Too white to be his natural colour,_ she thought to herself, he looked like some kind of anti-goth… but by God, in some strange way he was gorgeous. Drop. Dead. Gorgeous. Languidly he raised the most piercing electric blue eyes she had ever seen to fasten on her. They made her heart leap in her chest.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

She could make out from his tone that he was lying and strangely enough that he was doing nothing to sound convincing. She stared at him for a moment, his heady voice still rang in her ears, that silky voice enthralled her…

_I must be more far-gone than I thought…_

She shook her head, wavering on the spot, "You'll have to go back downstairs," she tried to reinforce dazedly.

"Don't you remember me?"

His gaze wandered over her as he sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. The light reflected off of a dagger-shaped earring as he tilted his head, eyeing her expectantly. She hesitated for a moment, she didn't want to offend him by saying no, but then she was sure she'd remember someone who looked like he did, he was simply too unique not to.

"I'm sorry, no I don't… Are you here with someone else?"

His grin grew wider, "You mean am I attached?"

An awkward unexplainable blush rose to her cheeks.

"No! That's not what I meant! I meant are you here with one of my friends or something- as a plus one," she amended, trying hastily to make it clear that the question had no implications whatsoever, "I just don't think I've seen you before…"

He laughed softly, apparently amused by her reaction to his flirtatious teasing. The scarlet blazed hotter in her cheeks, she hated the idea that he might be making fun. He inclined his head toward her dresser.

"Those are nice roses…"

Her eyes flickered back bewilderedly, "Why-"

She gasped sharply.

"Did your boyfriend give them to you?"

He was standing right in front of her, inches away but she had not seen or heard him move.

After a moments falter, just gawping at him, trying in vain to recover what she had been about to say, she shook her head dumbly, "No…"

"Ah… A secret admirer perhaps then?"

Was it her imagination? Or was he drawing closer? She could see every detail of his face, his soft lips, his sooty lashes, the intense depth of his azure eyes… Fathomless, all of it. Deep enough to drown in. Yes… That's what it felt like. She was gravitating towards this bizarre person whom she had never met in her life and seemed unable to draw away, she was tempted to touch him just to make sure he was real. Her hands even moved, without her conscious thought, to do it.

She stopped herself abruptly, confused, she stepped back. The sudden unexplainable intimacy of feeling had frightened her and it showed clearly on her face. The boy just continued to stare.

"Your makeup is smudged," he said gently, raising his hand as if to touch her cheek, Amber moved further back.

"Have you been crying?"

She shook her head, "Go on… I'll probably be back down in a minute," she replied, ignoring his question.

This time he nodded and did what she said, but his expression had changed, his smile became even more primal as he turned away, a feral longing flashed in his eyes. He was looking at her in a way she that made her nervous and delighted at the same time. It was like he wanted something from her, _really_ wanted it, something that was beyond her comprehension. She had never seen someone look at her like that before.

With one last glancing flicker of those eyes, the door clicked gently shut behind him. Amber instantly fell perplexed onto her bed, her honey-coloured hair fanned out on the pillow, her arms stretched upward to touch the headboard. It seemed odd to her that a complete stranger could arouse such feelings of suspicion and yearning within her. Fear even. It wasn't just his ethereal appearance that bothered her, though that would have been enough to convince her he wasn't ordinary. He just didn't _feel_ altogether normal. His whole aura was magnetic. She had been physically _drawn_ to him.

Sinking into the mattress, she felt a something pointy dig into her back. She frowned and reached around to retrieve the source of the irritation. Her eyes widened. The object was a silver ring… Definitely not one of hers. A pretty little thing, the band engraved with an unintelligible writing, she would have guessed the boy had dropped it on her bed, but it was unquestionably a girl's ring. Shrugging, she pocketed it, she'd ask when she saw him again.

She glanced at her clock, only ten to eleven! Still early yet, still plenty more of the party to endure. She flopped back onto her soft bed again. She just needed to rest for a while… To close her eyes…


	4. Reunion

**Chapter Three**

The orange bobbing heads of the roses swam into focus in the stinging light of her bedroom. Amber awoke to the furry stale taste of sour alcho-pops in her mouth and the remaining light-headedness from the alcohol. She rubbed her eyes, lashes sticking together and the make-up she had left on pulling apart, leaving dark smudges on her fingers and already tear-stained cheeks. Hazily, she tried to separate the shattered bits and pieces of her fitful dreams and fit them together, only to find the memories would not return as she wanted... Just the feeling of misery remained...

The party had quietened down, the music no longer thumping through the floor, a quick glance at her clock told her she had slept through to the early hours of the morning. She groaned heavily, rubbing her eyes again, too despondent to even care she'd missed her whole party. Swinging her legs over the side of her bed she forced herself up, tottering on her heels. The room swayed a little and the blood rushed to her head, knocking her sideways so she had to rest her hand on the dresser. In that brief moment of recovery, a flash of recollection reminded her why she was so unhappy. Her throat went dry.

Josh...

The awkward greeting, the expressionless small talk. She didn't think she could feel more humiliated than if he'd openly declared to the room that she was worthless. Tears that she fiercely tried to hold back stung her eyes, she didn't want to remember it... She could think of nothing worse than going back to that alone place where all she had were those self-pitying thoughts. She needed a way to block it out, to numb herself. The painful gnawing on her insides was just too much to bear. She knew it was self-indulgent and childish, but maybe getting completely trashed would push it from her mind for just a little while.

The door handle was in her grasp before she knew it. That was the answer, she could think of no alternative that didn't involve torturous pain. She passed down the stairs like a spectre, completely indifferent to the drunken sleepers on the stairs, leaning against the wall and slumped on the couches. It was like some kind of demented faerie realm, the manic dancers drugged with sweet fruits, collapsed into eternal slumber. Only the occasional rustle of movement and muffled sounds of people fumbling with clumsy intimacy in the dark broke the illusion. She felt separate from them, like she really was a spirit just passing through their sex-obsessed, drink fuelled world, but she so wanted to be a part of it. To be as callous and unfeeling as them, then maybe everything else would stop hurting. Maybe she could forget about the pain ripping holes in her insides. Maybe the terror of being alone would leave her.

The kitchen light was still on, she wondered if there was any fruit left for her.

She retrieved the key to her parent's alcohol cupboard with an exact picture in her mind of what she was after, the old whiskey her dad drank on special occasions. She found it easily, hidden behind the gins, rums and various other liqueurs that were used more often. Hoisting herself up onto the counter, she turned the bottle in her hands, considering it. The light rippled on the smooth glass surface, the amber liquid looked harmless enough, it sloshed with a light sound in the bottle. She knew her mother hated her drinking spirits and it would definitely be missed if she didn't replace it... She twisted the cap. She didn't care. So what if she got in trouble with her parents? She couldn't care less right now. Eighteen years of good behaviour deserved some kind of allowance she reasoned. Not bothering to add any kind of mixer, she closed her eyes and lifted it to her lips.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

A gentle pressure on the end of the bottle stopped her before she could drink, she opened her eyes to confront the obstruction. They just widened in surprise.

It was him, the white-haired boy who had crept into her bedroom, in her obsessive self pity she had forgotten that he even existed. Or at least that was the excuse she gave herself for experiencing the same shameless reaction to him as she had before. His scrutinising yet striking blue eyes made her heart stop in her chest, a thrill of excitement jolting through her. She was stunned.

He tightened his grip on the bottle and pried it gently from her fingers, setting it on the counter beside her. The chink of glass on the worktop made her jump out of her daze, Amber glared at him.

"It's my party, I can do what I want."

That smouldering azure bore intently through her, she was sober enough now to know for sure that it was not the drink doing this to her. This boy's presence was overwhelming, even though he wasn't even touching her, the closeness of his hands on the counter either side of her thighs made her shiver unconsciously.

"You don't want to be like them."

He didn't give any indication of who he was referring to, but it was quite clear who he meant – everyone else in her house. Then as if on cue, a clearly audible sound of someone vomiting came from the next room, evoking a chorus of sleepy disgusted groans from the sleepers. Amber cringed at the idea of having to clear up after whoever it was.

"Do you?"

He was closer now, leaning in and still not quite touching her, she shook her head mutely.

He lifted his hand and she flinched, an instinctive reaction to the quick movement, he looked surprised at her frightened jerk.

"Your make-up is still smudged," he explained, his arm fixed in place, as though he were waiting for her permission.

She couldn't quite bring herself to look up into the dazzling yet empty cold of those eyes, she already felt her heart was beating ridiculously loud. She bit her lip, embarrassed, but didn't move to stop him. The gesture seemed harmless enough. Taking her silence as consent, he touched his fingertips to her face, resting his palm against her cheek.

She shuddered with the strange thrill that ran through her body at his caressing fingertips and clenched her teeth hard to stop the accompanying sharp intake of breath. He had closed his eyes, and she heard him utter a sigh of something that sounded like relief. Her eyes flickered up to catch his gaze lowered beneath his sooty lashes. She couldn't help the tightening feeling in her stomach at that sound, the carnal look on his face. He had held his breath waiting to touch her.

Then the moment passed, his face mellowed into a mask of calm and he stepped back to lean on the table. Just as she was about to speak to ask what had happened, he raised a finger to stop her.

"Amber Emmett..." he whispered, trying the name on his tongue, his words thick like honey.

She frowned, "I'm sorry... I still don't know who you came here with, I don't think I've ever met you before."

She paused for a second, waiting for him to correct her and re-introduce himself as someone's friend or boyfriend she had met once before and forgotten, but he just stared at her, a smug smile playing on his lips.

"Err... Who did you come here with? What's your name?"

The boy's grin widened, a dazzling smile that made her sure she couldn't have forgotten him. She had never met him. He wasn't here with anyone. No one had mentioned bringing a guest she wouldn't have met.

"My name is Julian... And I came here alone."

She shuffled down from the counter, "Then... What _are_ you doing here exactly? You weren't invited, I don't know you-"

"Oh you know me... From a very long time ago."

"Where?"

"Would you believe me if I said a previous life?"

She raised an eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

He fixed that devastating gaze on her, "Would you believe me if I told you the reason I came here was because I loved you?"

Amber almost burst into laughter it was only the complete seriousness on his face that stopped her. He didn't laugh or smile, just watched her intently, leaning back on the table, monitoring her reaction. She felt the bile rise in her throat and butterflies in her stomach, for some reason she couldn't shrug the sentence off as a corny chat-up line. He must be joking, trying to mess with her head, either that or he was mad. The completely convincing tone of his voice that almost made her believe him hurt her more than she thought possible.

"Do be serious," she snapped, "I've had a shit night and I'm not in the mood, I don't care who you are or why you decided to crash, but if you leave now I won't call the police. You have no idea what bad timing your stupid joke is."

"Why? Would the timing be better if your so-called friends were here to offer you solace and mindless advice? Or maybe you're still waiting for your unappreciative narcissistic ex-boyfriend to take you back? You know, the one who's getting intimate with your 'best friend' behind your back."

Her mouth fell open, "What!"

"Well I'll tell you something about him Amber..." he said gently, "And I'm not trying to upset you, I couldn't think of anything worse."

Her body tensed ready to run but he stepped closer, blocking her path, "I'm not joking. He didn't love you. He doesn't even know what love is and neither do you, not yet."

"Back off," she hissed, trying to shove him out of the way, "You don't know anything about me, I've never even met you!"

He caught her hands holding her in place, "I'd be lying if I said I thought this would be easy, but I don't want to play games with you anymore. I've come out and told you honestly how I feel, just like you told me I should have before. Why are you resisting it? I know you can feel something-"

"Stop it! You're insane!"

She wrenched herself out of his grasp, he went to grab her shoulders again, but recoiled as if burned. His expression turned dark.

"Alright Jenny... Have it your way. If I have to take you back into the game, I will."

She gripped the kitchen counter, he looked terrifying, almost inhuman, blue eyes ablaze with excitement and malice, his smile stretched wide exposing his white teeth like a hungry wolf. There was a bang as the kitchen door opened and the last thing she saw before she sharply turned her head was a sly wink from the eternal boy.

"Amber? Are you okay? I heard shouting."

The shouting had woken Leon, half-dressed and covered in party streamers. She turned back quickly, only to find quite astoundingly that Julian had disappeared.

She was unable to find words, "There was... A boy."

Leon raised an eyebrow, a sly smile gracing his lips as he spotted the bottle, "Have you been on the whiskey Amber?"

She shook her head, "No... No... There was a crasher, he had white hair and he was wearing all black, I tried to get him to leave but he wouldn't go. He was telling me-"

She halted abruptly, she couldn't tell Leon what Julian had said, it didn't make sense to _her,_ let alone trying to explain it to anyone else.

Leon put his hand on his shoulder, "Well... He's gone now, I must have scared him off, are you okay?"

She nodded still flabbergasted that he had disappeared so suddenly. It wasn't possible. It was almost like magic.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, though she knew she wasn't.

Leon patted her shoulder, "I'll check all the doors are locked, he didn't go back through the longue so he must have ran off through the back. Don't worry, he was probably just some drunk idiot, he won't be back."

Amber nodded again, letting Leon guide her back to her bedroom in silence. She didn't agree with him. She knew deep down that Julian would be back. Surprisingly sleep came quite easily and as she drifted into a fitful rest she could see his blue eyes, could hear his musical laughter throughout her dreams, chasing her. She couldn't escape from him and she was terrified, unable to hide even in the darkness.

_Jenny... _he had said, _Why had he called her Jenny?_


End file.
